


And to the sound of your prayers

by Itherael



Series: Shall we Dance? [1]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Mild Blood and Gore, This is where it starts to get ugly, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 17:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14193534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itherael/pseuds/Itherael
Summary: "I didn't know you were the praying type"Placed in a verse where Eto tries to use Amon as her back up OEK, the first couple of... sessions are the most interesting ones.





	And to the sound of your prayers

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, a quick explanation about Haunt Me.
> 
> Haunt Me is a long fic I have been working on and off for a few years, and it was my take about what Amon had undergo during the time between the end of TG and the beginning of TG:re, going as far to his next meeting with Kaneki. Yup, in essence Haunt Me is and will always be an Amoneki fic, but... while writing on it this pairing started to grow on me, given how much I involved Eto during Amon's captivity. So, since Haunt Me is Amoneki, Shall we Dance is its Etomon counterpart.
> 
> If you want to know more about this particular verse, hit me up on tumblr ;3
> 
> As always this was enabled by the amazing Half_SubmergedinPurgatory.

Not for the first time, Amon had managed to surprise her.

During all the years she had been present seeing this kind of things or actively participating on them, she had heard everything. She had seen people begging, telling themselves stories, counting and many other things to keep themselves from breaking further, to keep themselves sane enough.

_(It never worked)_

She had also heard people pray. Pray with desperation, asking to whatever God they believed in to give them strength, to guide them in their darkest hour ( _”The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want”_ ), but it was mostly a last second resource. Asking for help to an Almighty entity was always something that often meant that they were on the verge of losing their sanity. Even the most avid atheist would search for God.

But in his case, praying was something that came during the first sessions.

She knew he had yet to break, she had just started to scratch the surface of what would eventually come, but he was praying. Either being in the old latin, or the gutural russian that came as natural as their language to him, his accent nowhere to be found, his prayers echoed through the empty room.

The cadence of his voice, the strength of his words, the conviction behind every single prayer. He wasn’t asking for guidance, he was using the familiarity of the prayers to keep him centered in the present.

But… why?

It could have made sense with the necklace around his neck, but he didn’t sound like those religious fanatics, seeking comfort from God. No, his prayers, while sometimes desperate, didn’t feel like that. 

“I didn’t know you were the praying type” she said, after many weeks of wondering, looking for a reason.

Amon was barely standing, with half of his fingers missing from each hand, his face ruined ( _his right eye missing by his own handiwork_ ), ripped to shreds and almost unrecognizable. That armour, the one that appeared from time to time, caressing his body like a lover, keeping it together with what little strength it had.

“And I’m not” He rasped eventually, refusing to kneel even if his legs were going to give out at any moment.

“Then… why?” Her curiosity was almost childlike, but she was tired of having that thought haunting her.

“There’s nothing to believe… prayers are just words, like stories” His voice had gained an unusual calmness, something she had only heard in those weird moments of peace. “Prayers hold no consolation for me”.

“Then why?” she asks again, getting tired of his nonsense. Why can he tell her the reason?!

“’Why?’” He looks at her, a defiant grin in his face. “Because then, you’ll never see the moment I break”

Oh.

What a bastard.

She’s frustrated with that answer. Koutarou was growing more defiant, stronger, and this bastard wasn’t the same serious investigator of a lifetime ago. 

Her hands ached, wanting to rip him apart, paint his cell with his blood again. She wants to see him destroyed, she wants to hear his voice breaking and hear the desperation, hear him begging her to stop.

She wants nothing more than to have his heart in her hand and bite it while it’s still beating. Maybe one day she will.

But for now, she’ll have to contemp herself with the music of his screams.

**Author's Note:**

> [iterael](http://iterael.tumblr.com/) @ tumblr.


End file.
